


Here, There, and Everywhere

by SegaBarrett



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Post-Dragon's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick wants to believe in Freddie, but he's not sure how to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here, There, and Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Hannibal, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Some allusions to Frederick's injuries, but nothing super-explicit. Be warned, however. 
> 
> A/N #2: Title from the Beatles!!! :D

The waterbed was warm, and it seemed to curl Frederick Chilton into a gentle embrace. He figured it must have been designed to be like a womb, or something. Either way, he was glad that Freddie had invested in one. After months lying on his back and feeling like an overturned turtle, it was nice to be able to roll around, switch to his side, lay on his stomach or just fall haphazardly every-which-way.

Some days, after all, switching position in bed was a chore he couldn’t bring himself to accomplish. He had been home – if he called this home, that was – from the hospital for only a week, with all new skin and a prosthesis to stand in for his eventually permanent lips. 

She had invited him to come home with her, and he had accepted. He didn’t want to go back to his lonely house, that sterile place that had always felt rented yet never really lived in. 

And this woman seemed to care about him, seemed to like him. Even if his condition and maybe especially in his condition, it was a high he couldn’t say no to. 

The door opened, and Freddie Lounds entered, dressed in a pair of blue pajama pants and a white nightshirt.

“Hi,” she greeted. “How’re you feeling?”

“Extra crispy,” Frederick murmured, and she laughed. 

“Well, that was always what I ordered at KFC,” she told him, sitting on one of the bumpers that surrounded the bed. “Hey, listen, I know you just got out of the hospital, and I don’t want to come on too strong but uh… Would you be interested in doing something tonight?”

It was hard for Frederick to meet her eyes. Part of him figured that she had to be laughing at him, the way that Alana had laughed when she’d come to visit, come to gloat. The other part was even scarier; that was the part that allowed him to hold out hope that someone would want to put their hands on him again, to touch him again. But was that something that was even possible? Maybe he was too badly burned to ever be normal again, and maybe this was one of those ways.

“I… Can we?” he asked, eventually, “Freddie… I don’t… know how much I can too, I mean. You saw the damage and it was pretty bad, and I…”

“We just have to be willing to give it a shot.”

Frederick ran his tongue over his lips.

“I’m in pieces. Literally,” he murmured. “Why do you even…”

“Oh, don’t start with that.” She climbed completely on to the bed and shook one leg in the air. “I know Betty Everett said, ‘It’s in his kiss’ but that was a bunch of bullshit.” She blinked her eyes at him. “I want to see what you can do with the rest of you. I want to try out all this new skin.” She snaked an arm out to set on his stomach. “Nice and soft, see?”

Frederick shivered. He was still so nervous about being touched, so afraid that he would feel glue on his arms, the flame on his bad, the bite on his face.

But this was Freddie. She was nice to him. But why?

“It’s hard to wrap my head around,” he whispered. 

“Frederick.” Freddie leaned in to press her lips to his forehead gently. “It’s not that I don’t see the scars, it’s not some Shallow Hal bullshit. I see them, and I notice them and I feel like a Grade A bitch for noticing them. But then I don’t care, because you… You’re witty and sarcastic and you don’t care what anyone thinks. And I’ve always had a thing for you. Even when I got to see your internal organs.”

He put a hand on her shoulder.

“Did they look okay?”

“Yeah. They were great. I always wanted to see a liver – that’s why I didn’t go to medical school.”

Frederick chuckled.

“So how are we going to do this?”

Freddie reached out to undo the string on his sweatpants – he’d had to dress a lot less formal as of late, as everything that wasn’t baggy hurt like hell. She pulled them down gently, slowly, and smiled as she slipped them off, then did the same with Frederick’s boxers. 

She reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He looked up at her, eyes wide, kind of scared and kind of excited.

“It’s okay,” Freddie whispered, “It’s all right. I promise.” She gave him a stroke. 

Frederick gasped. His tongue hung out and he was drooling a little bit.

“Is that good?” Freddie’s eyes met his. “How does it feel, when I do that?”

“I don’t know… Try again please?”

She gave him another gentle squeeze, and he flinched, looking at her sadly.

“It… kind of hurts, when you do that.”

Freddie looked at him, moving her hand over to his shoulder. 

“We can stop. There’s something else that might be good. It’s a little outside the box, though. We can let you heal, here.”

Frederick looked at her and gave a little nod.

“I’m sorry that I can’t… I mean, I’m sure you want…”

“I’ll be right back.” Freddie rose off the waterbed and moved to the chest of drawers on the far side of the room. She opened a drawer and then returned, holding a little bottle.

“Oh, no, no, no!” Frederick said, laughing and putting his hands up. “I’m not that type of guy, okay! Jesus, Freddie.”

Freddie chuckled.

“Lots of guys say they’re not that type of guy. But – and no pressure, okay, but maybe just a little – a lot of guys haven’t given this a shot. Do you know how many nerves are down there?”

“I did go to medical school, Freddie. I do understand what a prostate is, you know.”

She snickered.

“You may understand what it is, but… just trust me on this. Give me a chance.”

“You’re kind of pushing my hand here…” 

Freddie put her hand on Frederick’s shoulder.

“Let me push something else. Let me… You deserve to feel good. And if it doesn’t feel good, if it doesn’t feel right, then you just tell me to stop.”

Frederick’s eyes looked at her, and his tongue trailed over his lips. His hands were shaking.

“And if I tell you to stop… what happens then?”

Then it would be the test, wouldn’t it? It would be a matter of whether she could stay with a man who had been pieced back together, who wasn’t whole anymore. Freddie didn’t really strike him as the type that wanted to be somebody’s care-giver for the rest of his life. He knew that type, had seem them lurking around every hospital he had ever worked in. The ones who looked for his patients, the sicker the better, and attached themselves to them. They didn’t want them out of love, though – they wanted to make themselves feel better, to pat themselves on the back so hard they could have dislocated their shoulder.

“If you tell me to stop, then we stop. We can get some ice cream and watch whatever god-awful reality show is on. Frederick, you think I’m really someone who’s going to get bent out of shape if I can’t get off tonight?” Freddie looked at him and made a “tsk-ing” sound. 

“Well… I mean, you’re not the kind of person who seems to put themselves last,” Frederick commented. Freddie burst out laughing.

“That was me for most of my life, Frederick. I always put myself last. I put everything I wanted on the back burner for my family because… it was just what you did. I didn’t really have any choice in the matter. But now… This isn’t because I’m trying to act like Mother Teresa. It’s because you are what I want.”

“But why?”

Freddie let out a frustrated sigh.

“I thought we were supposed to be the ones to ask questions like that. Women, I mean. People would have the world think we just sit there agonizing over whether or not something makes us look fat. But you…”

“Got burned from head to toe,” Frederick replied dryly. “And I’ve always been vain, before…”

“No reason to stop now,” Freddie retorted. “Now let me see that cute little ass of yours.” 

Frederick looked at her for a long moment, then figured that he would give it a shot. After all he had done, all that he had been through – what could it hurt? 

“I’m going to prop you up,” Freddie told him, picking up a pillow. “Here, scotch forward a little.” She positioned the pillow underneath his hips. “Listen, what I said before – I’m not trying to pressure you, okay? I just want you to feel good. I care a lot about you, all right? Whether you want to believe it or not. I held your life in my hands, Frederick. Maybe that’s when it started. But I don’t want to let go.”

Frederick sucked in a breath.

“Touch me.”

He watched Freddie’s fingers, watched them as she worked slowly, grabbing the small tube and lubing them until they glistened. They were long fingers, near-perfect fingers – Frederick always felt that no one really had a perfect body (proportions tended to be so off-kilter on every living thing), but Freddie was as close as one person could get. 

He lay back and spread his legs wide, tried to ignore the self-conscious tremor darting from his blistered thighs up through his charred stomach. 

She placed the pad of one finger at his entrance, looking him in the eye as she began to poke it in ever-so-slightly.

Frederick gasped.

“Freddie… I…”

“It’s okay, Frederick.”

He wiggled his toes. It didn’t hurt, not quite, but it was odd. Sensitive, in a way his skin hadn’t been ever since… but it was hard to separate sensitive from painful anymore. 

This… this was something else.

He opened and closed his eyes, as quickly as he could. She was wiggling her finger, pushing it in further and it didn’t hurt… 

For the first time in a long, long time, for just a few moments, nothing hurt. 

Frederick looked up at her, shyly, and smiled. His lips were curled awkwardly over the plate that slid into his mouth, and he sheepishly worried about how he looked, wondering again if maybe this was all a joke, an attempt to see the great Frederick Chilton fall apart once and for all.

Then she pressed against something inside him, and he saw a bright light behind his eyes. He kicked his feet out and let out a yelp.

It must have been his prostate, his clinical mind reminded him, but his animalistic mind just wanted her to touch it again.

“Freddie, please,” he gasped out. His fingers wiggled, and his toes did too. He felt her curve her finger and touch him yet again, and then he was crying out, flinging his hands in the air, feeling terribly undignified but not caring.

Now, Freddie was inserting a second finger.

“It’s okay,” she cooed, “Spread for me…” 

“Freddie…” Frederick shut his eyes. He realized with a start that his cock was pressed, hard, against his thigh, as if it was trying to remind him that all was not lost, that he had been torn apart and sewed back together but still existed, still fought for life. “Freddie please…” He felt a surge of care for her that he couldn’t have named, even if he had wanted to. 

“It’s okay.” She pushed her fingers in further, and Frederick rolled his head. 

“Freddie… please… once more…” 

He could feel something rising within him, and in his body too. He twitched. She was stringing him like a bow, and he didn’t want to go back to reality.

“Freddie!” he yelled out, as she touched that spot again, jolted his head forward, made him cum so hard so thought he was falling. 

There were tears in his eyes so he closed them, pulled his hands in on himself so he wouldn’t have to see him looking so vulnerable, like a turtle without his shell.

“Frederick.” Freddie’s voice was soft as she pushed past his hand to stroke his face. “Feel good?”

He couldn’t speak for a long moment but, at last, nodded.

“That’s good,” Freddie whispered. “You deserve to feel good.”

“Do I?”

Images flooded Frederick – being hooked up to a respirator on Abel Gideon’s table, the bullet flying into his cheek, the Red Dragon swooping in like he was going to kiss him, the flame and smelling of something burning before he’d realized it was him. The only images he could really conjure anymore were ones of pain and fear.

“Of course.” Freddie’s hands were dabbing at his thighs and he realized she had pulled a towel from somewhere. “There. All cleaned up. Come sleep beside me.”

Her hands led him, put him into position, and draped a blanket around him. 

Frederick Chilton laid his head on Freddie Lounds’ shoulder and for the first time since his ordeal had begun, he wept.


End file.
